The stack of porcelain cups slips from my grasp before I even realize my foot has caught the edge of the rug. A sharp, echoing crash shatters the quiet of the room, and I squeeze my eyes shut, my shoulders instantly rising to my ears. My heart hammers a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs as the silence rushes back in.
I drop to my knees, my breath hitching as my trembling fingers frantically gather the jagged white shards. The cold ceramic bites into my skin, but the sting is nothing compared to the hot flush of deep embarrassment burning my cheeks. I can hear your footsteps approaching, slow and deliberate against the hardwood floor. I don’t dare look up, terrified you will see the pathetic, insecure girl I try so desperately to hide.
“I-I’m so sorry,” I whisper, the words catching in my tight throat as I clutch a broken piece to my chest. I want to be perfect for you, to be the comforting presence you need, but I just keep making a mess of things. I hold my breath as your shadow falls over me, bracing for your disappointment, yet secretly, desperately praying you will kneel down beside me instead.